


The Amaranthine Prisoner

by WaywardLass



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLass/pseuds/WaywardLass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Few things surprise Warden Elissa Cousland anymore. She has experienced more in one year than most people ever do in a lifetime. Proud and tenacious, she is determined to rebuild the legendary Grey Warden Order in Ferelden. She is prepared for everything: darkspawn, joining rituals, squabbling nobles and bumbling recruits. She can handle the unexpected, she believes, until the day she is confronted with the face of someone she has tried very hard to forget...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Rude) Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first played DA:O a while ago, but had never played Awakening until...now. And once I started playing, all I could babble about was that dishy Nathaniel Howe. I looked at my Warden, imported from my first playthru in Origins and thought, "Girlfriend! How could you not have done anything about this? You two were neighbooooors!" And so I started imagining this story, where Elissa and Nathaniel have a past... that may interfere with their present circumstances. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Oh, and some of the dialogue, especially Nathaniel's, is from the game--some of it altered a bit to fit the scene a little better. But I SWEAR: that whole shooting bolts from the eyes and being ten feet tall is straight from the GAME. 
> 
> Srsly.

 

“Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.”  
― Cormac McCarthy

* * *

Elissa Cousland blinked twice in disbelief.

The dark haired man languishing in the small prison cell was none other than the former heir of Amaranthine.

She was immediately assailed by a juvenile urge to strike Nathaniel Howe with petty words out of sheer hatred for his father.

"I barely recognized you," she had wanted to say.

After all, she hadn't seen him in ten years or so.

But it wasn't true, she realized, taking in the face that had always been handsome even when set in a brooding scowl, just as it was right then: the same strong jaw, pronounced cheekbones, full lips, and stern brow, except this was a grown man's face—not the boy she'd once known so well.

She settled for a milder but dismissive "Who is that?" pretending that he was nothing more than a stranger.

"He won't give his name," the guard informed her dutifully. "All I know is he was caught poking around the estate in the middle of the night. I'd say he was just a thief… but it took four Grey Wardens to capture him."

The barely contained admiration did not go unnoticed.

"You best be careful," the dolt continued, awed. "Whoever he is. He's no ordinary burglar, that's for sure."

Elissa awarded the guard her most withering glare.

 _Good Maker, spare me..._ _I fought an Archdemon._

"Right," she stated dryly. "Leave me to talk with him."

"As you wish, Commander!"

The guard then rambled on about the seneschal and how he would relay her decision about what to do with the prisoner—whenever she reached her decision, that is.

"Anders. Oghren," she called out flatly. "Wait for me outside."

"Are you sure you won't need our aid? The guard did say it took four soldiers and right now we're just two and a half…" Anders teased.

"That half you are referring to better be your big mouth," Oghren griped, taking the bait.

"Why are we stuck with you? What a cruel twist of fate: poor Mhairi was much more pleasant."

"Out," Elissa ordered, aware she was now the object of the prisoner's stare.

The two skulked out, shutting the door behind them as she approached the prison bars.

_Ten years is long enough for barriers to be raised and loyalties redefined… with impunity._

"Nathaniel," she stated coolly.

The man stared down at her.

"Well, if it isn't the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of evil," he stated sardonically in his raspy voice. "Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?" he mocked.

"Heh. That's only during certain days of the month." She crossed her arms, feigning a calloused indifference.

"Somehow I just thought that my father's murderer would be…more impressive." He'd emphasized _murderer_.

She clucked in sympathy.

"I regret to have disappointed you. But you know…It's interesting: unlike his son, it only took one Grey Warden to knock Rendon Howe down to the ground," she shrugged. "You see, Howe was as cowardly in death as he was in life," she revealed with a hint of cruelty. "I will say this much about the man: at least he was consistent to the end."

She had hoped to derive more delight from the momentary grief that crossed his expression.

She didn't.

"Well, I cannot… dwell on that. And I cannot change the past," he stated meaningfully, causing a shiver to course down her spine. "But these were our lands."

"Oh? And you came back to… what?" she puzzled. "Steal them back? Hope your pockets are big enough."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Your father brought this end on himself," Elissa concluded, unwilling to prolong the debate.

"My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost _everything_!" he cried, giving in to his exasperation.

She peered back at him coldly.

"Losing every _thing_ is unfortunate: I agree. But it's better than losing every _one_. That's what your father did to me."

An uneasy silence extended itself between them. He watched her as she paced to and fro before the prison door, struggling not to betray how the mere mention of the name 'Rendon Howe' still upset her.

"I came here…" Nathaniel began after a while in a low voice. "I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you."

Her head snapped up at his words, bewildered by the fact they had managed to be surprisingly hurtful. She was sure he had noticed her shock, but was met instead with his own disconcerted, confounded expression. He quickly averted his eyes.

"But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left."

She leaned against the wall.

"You wanted to kill me?" she marveled. "Did you give up once you saw how long the line for that was?"

"That was the plan," he admitted. He stepped away and stared at the ground. "Look, I don't know what happened with the Couslands. It sounds like it was horrible. The entire war was," he offered quietly.

_That's it? You knew 'the Couslands' throughout your youth!_

"I see you have mastered the art of the meaningless platitude during your exile. It is especially poignant that you are offering me your half-assed condolences."

"Whatever my father did shouldn't harm my whole family!" he entreated her. "Do you realize the Howes are pariahs now? Those of us left?"

 _Pride. History. The family name._ He'd always been a little bit tiresome regarding his lineage.

"You could always change your name," she provoked.

His glare hardened.

"Our downfall is all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?"

 _You claimed I was responsible for deciding your fate once, a long time ago. Now I do so in earnest,_ she almost said.

But she held her tongue.

"I shouldn't be surprised that you would find irony in justice. But I am not here to clarify or justify anything to you. Besides, your family only has itself to blame for its troubles."

The memory surfaced in flashes, unbidden:

_Tremulous hands, warm lips, bare skin._

"Perhaps you should work to redeem what little honor is left to your name," she suggested quietly.

_That was long ago. Too long. The Waking Sea might as well still be between us._

"You're right!" he stated with sarcastic enthusiasm. "I'll go join King Alistair's service immediately. He'd be certain to give a Howe another chance!"

 _I would have…once_ , she remembered.

"Honestly, Nathaniel: do you hate me this much?" she sighed tiredly.

For the first time, he appeared to relent.

"The way I see it…The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren't for the Blight, maybe my father would never have…done what he did."

She smirked.

"'Done what he did.'" She shook her head. "How eloquent…" she mocked. "Call a spade a spade: he committed treason and murder. No darkspawn forced him to such mayhem…Inspired him, perhaps?..." she accused.

"I told you: I can't do anything about the past. And I can't do anything about them, can I?" He jutted his chin towards the prison window. "There's just you." His voice faded as if he were seeing her for the first time. "…And the Grey Wardens… here, in my home."

She shrugged.

"So tell me: why did we have trouble capturing you if you came on such a peaceful visit?"

The outraged look he shot her was precious.

"As if I would be granted safe passage! I had to take action: I am not without skills. My time abroad wasn't spent chasing skirts and drinking wine!" he emphasized the last bit for her benefit.

"Pity, " she quipped, a warm flush spreading over her cheeks. "It might have blunted your sharp edges some. So…what are your skills?"

"I am skilled at hunting. Scouting. Poisons…Why? What do you care?" he snapped.

 _What do you care_?

The words echoed back to her, identical, from an ill-fated conversation: a different argument, another time.

"I've decided what to do with you," she announced after some thought, heading towards the door decisively.

His eyes widened, but he refrained from exhibiting surprise.

"Already?" he muttered. "Good!" he declared spitefully, turning away from her.


	2. Kindred

"Than smoke and mist who better could appraise  
The kindred spirit of an inner haze?"

 

Robert Frost

* * *

 

Elissa had bluffed.

She hadn't decided on anything; she was going to have to sleep on it, after all.

It made her feel a little sheepish after her grandstanding.

 _It's just that Nathaniel's sudden appearance is bewildering_ , she told herself. _That's all._

He'd probably revel in the satisfaction of her not having made up her mind about his sentence—he'd feel somewhat vindicated in his suspicion that she remained indecisive.

Some things just didn't change, no matter what. After all, they had known each other well.

Once.

Rendon Howe and Bryce Cousland had prospered after the war for independence. Their lands bordered each other's and their children had grown up alongside one other. How often had the Howes sojourned in Highever? And how familiar had the Howe estate been to her, as a girl?

Back then, up until she was around eleven, she had traipsed after Delilah, who had at one time epitomized everything wondrous in the world of older girls. Fergus spent time sporting with Nathaniel instead—as first-born heirs they were nudged towards a friendship. But unlike Fergus, Nathaniel had not shown a keen interest in ruling anything. Howe's frustration with his elder son only intensified as they grew older and he seemed to redirect his favor towards the younger one, Thomas.

_Thomas._

_Never really liked him_ , Elissa thought, brushing out her thick dark brown hair before the salvaged vanity mirror as she got ready for bed. _Of the three Howe children, he was the one who most resembled the father…Even physically._

Nathaniel's head had always been filled with legend and tales of valor back in those days and was awash with the past exploits and triumphs of the Howes. He yearned for a life of adventure and glory. He defied his father's wishes by refusing to stash away his heroic ambitions and not resigning himself to the bureaucratic realities of running the arling. He and Fergus gradually drifted apart while Delilah's interests and affections became singularly focused on various young men at the court.

She and Nathaniel befriended each other, at first, it seemed, out of sheer boredom.

They played in a well-behaved manner in those early days, rounds of soporific board and card games. They occasionally read "morally sustaining and edifying" books together under the watchful tutelage of their minders and were expected to pose grandly and stoically during festivals, ceremonies, and performances.

She remembered the exact moment they became friends.

One day, as she, Nathaniel, and Thomas arrived at the courtyard at Highever Castle after a proper and sedate walk around the grounds—there was to be no carousing or romping around in their finery— Nathaniel came across a set of wooden training wasters in a weapons rack resting by the soldiers' training grounds. He drew one out, wielded it brazenly and yelled loudly. He cut across the air, lost in his make believe, until something blunt struck flatly across his wooden blade. She'd never forget the look of awe when he realized his newly found foe was none other than the girl he'd been bored to tears with before.

By that time, she had begun her combat training thanks to her mother, who despite futile efforts to raise her daughter into a proper courtly lady, also understood the importance of self-reliance and defense.

 _It was wise of her. It saved my life in the end_ , she realized sadly.

She and Nathaniel fought each other that afternoon, not even noticing when Thomas, excluded from their antics, wandered away morosely. They engaged in epic battles, acted out the adventurous stories he made up as she peppered in advice on proper form, stances, and strikes. In one short afternoon her world burst into color, more alive than ever before. Together they had staved off the attacks of Rivaini pirates, reenacted the clashes between Chasind and Alamarri warriors…and in the middle of it all, they had found in each other a kindred spirit.

_A friend._

Over time she would grow to commiserate with him over his confided frustrations: his father only allowed him to train at the most basic, rudimentary level, worried that he would not learn his duties properly if distracted by other interests.

 _You are a leader, not a peon. As Arl of Amaranthine, you will have an army ready to defend you,_ Howe often said to him.

 _An army to perform your treacherous deeds_ , she remembered with a dull ache.

"I will die of boredom if I have to tally another ledger. Come save me," his letters humorously beseeched her.

He teased her about her comical, failed attempts at ladylike behavior in Denerim and consoled her after the latest round of rebukes she had earned.

"Your mother's advice is very similar to what my mother says to Delilah," he'd written once. "And no, you won't garner many invitations to dance if you keep bragging about defeating your partners at sparring …But then again, why would you want anything to do with a boy who doesn't appreciate a girl who can fight like yourself? I think you're grand at it and I would hope you'd come to my aid if ever needed."

She smiled at the recollection. At the end of that particular letter, he'd drawn a ridiculous little picture: she, in plated armor, brandishing a sword, a dragon, lying vanquished on the ground, and a high tower, with a tiny window from which he had drawn himself cheering.

By the time they were in their late teens, they saw each other less and less. Shifts of power among several Banns, owing mostly to King Maric's reforms, kept their families occupied with political maneuvering in Denerim. Besides, a slight rift eventually pronounced itself between Bryce and Rendon. The possibility of uniting Highever and Amaranthine via a union between Fergus and Delilah—a possibility both families had found promising—was shattered when Fergus, smitten by a wealthy Antivan merchant's daughter, announced his betrothal. Rendon Howe had taken the announcement as a personal rebuke, even though Fergus and Delilah had never expressed any sort of sentimental interest in each other.

"You'd think they'd be plotting to marry us, instead," she had joked to him.

At the time he'd laughed at the suggestion.

"You're in no such danger. You aren't a first-born attached to any land obligations, like Fergus."

"Nor is Delilah! They should be arranging to marry you and Fergus instead!" she teased.

"As dashing as I may be, Elissa, I don't think I'm Fergus' type," he teased.

They had laughed lightly, but Nathaniel's face clouded afterwards.

"I believe my father would bequeath part of the arling to Delilah. Just to consolidate power."

She and Nathaniel remained steadfast friends, even if their adventures took place, more often than not, on parchment rather than face-to-face. Eventually, even that tapered off. She hadn't seen him for over a year by the time the Couslands arrived in Amaranthine for Thomas Howe's coming-of-age ceremony, when he would be formally introduced to all of the nobles and landowners in the arling.

At their arrival, they had been welcomed as esteemed guests, having been urged to arrive a few days earlier to participate in the festivities before the actual event.

_Flower garlands and lanterns._

_The wind sprinkled little blossom petals on the paths and ruffled the grasslands. Ferelden is breathtaking in the spring._

At the time she had just begun her formal military service in Highever. Against her mother's wishes, she wore her armor instead of a formal dress. Her sword remained strapped in a sheath across her back and her tabard with the Cousland's coat-of-arms billowed gently in the mild breeze. She had secretly hoped to obtain her friend's mirthful approval in such attire, but the Nathaniel she encountered there had changed drastically.

 _Much taller_ , she noticed _, not as lanky… and strong._

He donned the finery of a lord, but wore the scowl of a curmudgeon. The short mop of dark brown hair she had chased after so often in her youth had grown long and sleek. His had been partially fastened back in the traditional style of the Bannorn, barely grazing his shoulders. She noticed with amusement, though, that a stubborn strand kept tumbling over his cheek, defying his persistent attempts at tucking it away properly behind his ear. His manner of speech was polite, but strained. A moodiness and unease hovered over him, making her wonder if he was apt to burst out in anger at the smallest perceived offense. Anytime Howe addressed him, he'd reply in short, clipped sentences. After the brief introductions, he disappeared with little more than a courteous nod and they were chaperoned around the estate instead by the unctuous Thomas, who resembled his father down to the smallest mannerisms.

She had glanced pensively over her shoulder, wondering what had happened to alter her old friend so; he appeared almost foreign to her now. Despite his impressive presence as the young man he had become, she mourned the disappearance of the beloved friend she once had.

 


	3. Seen

“Friendship ... is born at the moment when one man says to another 'What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .'”

C.S. Lewis

* * *

 

 

"Leave the young people be," Lady Eliane Howe had entreated the other adults, ushering them into a large parlor. "We can go take our refreshments. I am sure all of this is quite dull for them."

It was how Elissa found herself among the faces of nobles she only vaguely knew, except for Thomas and Nathaniel.

"What should we do?" someone suggested, as they wandered away from the table that had been set for their breakfast in the garden.

"May we wander the grounds?" a young woman declared eagerly. "I've never been this close to the sea!"

Laughter erupted among them.

"The sea is still a ways out," Thomas explained condescendingly. "Don't you know where you are, silly goose?"

The crestfallen young woman's face turned crimson.

"On horseback it would not take long to get to the coast. Would you like to go see it?" Elissa offered kindly.

"It's still a hike," Thomas scoffed.

"Can't your father spare a few horses for a day trip?" Elissa asked, knowing very well that would nettle Thomas' pride.

"Of course he could! We have many horses at our disposal!"

She grinned, pleased at how easily he had taken her bait.

"Would that be all right?" the young woman asked.

"A ride to the coast? Might be nice," someone else mused.

"Shall we make a day of it?" another member of their group proposed.

"Yes! Let's!" a couple others cheered.

"That sounds like a plan! What say you, Thomas?"

"We wouldn't have to be back until early in the evening," a young man suggested.

It was unanimously agreed: they would undertake a trip to the shore on horseback. She ignored Thomas' murderous glares. When she snuck a glance at Nathaniel, he did not express much of anything…but she did notice a familiar a glint in his eyes.

* * *

Thomas had given Elissa the most skittish horse out of revenge.

Although not the most experienced rider, even she knew that such a horse was not fit to be saddled yet.

"I'm sorry—these are the only ones that can be spared at such short notice," he explained in his oily manner.

She approached and mounted the animal warily, cautious not to startle him, but Thomas frightened him by waving his arms exaggeratedly, pretending to beckon his other companions towards the trail. At the sight of the large, puffed sleeve wavering before him, the horse spooked and broke into a mad dash towards the estate's gates.

She tried to remain calm, doing her best to ride the runaway horse rather than trying to stop. They had galloped as far as the road outside the gates and all she could see were flatlands.

_Let the creature tire himself out._

The horse came to a halt a ways outside the gates and after shaking his mane vigorously, began to chomp on some greenery along the trail. The others eventually emerged where the road crested over the hill and the first thing that greeted her was Thomas' smug grin.

"Everything all right? You left us in quite a hurry."

Snide snickering followed his false expression of concern.

"This horse hasn't been properly trained yet," she explained.

"Or perhaps is it you who can't ride properly?" Thomas hinted, finding his little provocation rewarded by the sycophantic giggles and grins among his entourage.

"Perhaps you are right—" she agreed modestly. "I am not fit to ride poorly trained horses. I am used to our horses in Highever."

His brow furrowed.

Her stab struck cleanly. Had she known any better, she would have seen his father's noxious influence and values already at work in him.

 _Pride. Sheer pride_.

"Well, if you must, you may return and ask the grooms to saddle a different horse for you," Thomas offered. He huffed through his strained lips. "Perhaps we should call off the excursion… We really can't be delayed further," he lamented loudly—a lament that was met with prompt dismay by their party.

"Oh, not on my account!" she quickly stated graciously. "I can see myself back. Please: go on and enjoy."

She noticed the young woman whose defense she had come to earlier had been sniggering at her.

_Not one friendly word in my defense. No sense of solidarity. Serves me right for forging poor alliances._

"As you wish," Thomas replied, in a most satisfied tone.

She dismounted and started to lead the horse back down towards the gates by its reins.

"I'll see you back," she heard a low voice behind her.

Nathaniel's horse edged past the other riders and cantered towards her.

"Don't interrupt your outing on my account," she snapped, still smarting from the cavalier way he'd welcomed her after the many months of not seeing her.

"Nathaniel," Thomas called out to him warningly.

"Go ahead—don't wait."

He waved his brother off, oblivious to his cautionary tone.

With that, he also dismounted and led his horse to her.

"Here." He handed her his horse's reins. "Ride this one. This is my horse. You can continue on with the others and I'll take this one back to the stables."

"Will you be rejoining us?" she wondered.

He squinted and glanced up the path the others were following past thick overgrown bushes.

"Probably not," he confessed.

"I'm not interested in going either," she blurted out. "I'd rather sit in my room and stare at the walls."

He chuckled and took the reins from her hands and then gracefully mounted his horse, settling over the saddle with ease. She looked at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking this horse back to the stables before he gets himself in more trouble."

He extended his hand out to her.

"Come," he invited. "There's enough room for two…For a short distance, at least."

She grasped his hand and hauled herself awkwardly onto the horse, securing herself behind the saddle. He turned his head to the side slightly, to verify whether she was holding on. The horse began to stride off to the side impatiently.

"Hang on to the cantle," he advised her. He waited a few moments. "Ready?"

Before she could reply, he clucked his tongue as he clicked his heels against the animal's sides and began a leisurely trot down the trail, her horse beside his with just sufficient distance between them.

She and Nathaniel didn't speak, but she enjoyed the ride. She was amused by how odd it was that she felt so much smaller all of a sudden. She stared openly at the broad shoulders before her.

"When did you become a horseman?" she asked curiously, as they approached the gates.

He turned his head sideways again, surprised at her addressing him.

"Oh. Well, that…I suppose it's when my father saw me ride one day and told me I reminded him of a sodding Orlesian Chevalier. I made sure to practice riding almost every single day since," he stated with a sly grin.

"That's one way to rebel against your independence-fighting parents in Ferelden," she joked. "Become a Chevalier."

"Actually, I began riding because…I'd like to learn how to joust," he confessed.

She laughed.

"What's so funny?" he asked, vexed.

"Hello, Nathaniel! I was wondering where you were hiding! It's nice to see you are still you, after all!" she smiled.

He turned to glance at her and also smiled.

They rode in silence for a bit more.

"What's your horse's name?" she wondered.

Nathaniel muttered something, but she couldn't hear him.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"Dragon," he replied louder.

 _Of course he named his horse 'Dragon_ ,' she thought, bursting into laughter.

"Honest to Maker, you _would_ laugh at me," he complained, suppressing a smile.

"It's the irony! That it was you, mounted on Dragon, who came to rescue _me_ this time around."

At that, he finally laughed, too.


	4. The Outing

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

-Jane Austen

* * *

 

"There is a trail heading north that is worth traveling on," Nathaniel told Elissa once they arrived at the stables. "We could saddle up one of the other horses and go for a ride, if you'd like," he suggested.

"Won't the others begrudge us for not rejoining them?"

"Honestly?" He pulled a saddle atop another horse. "Thomas is the only one who will be peeved. But he's perpetually peeved at me, so it will make no difference…And the others… The others are all his and Delilah's friends, anyway. A pack of bootlickers, if you ask me."

She nodded.

"Should we inform anyone of our change of plans?" she wondered.

"If you'd like… Although I think we'd just be bothering everyone." He smirked. " My mother is sure to be at least three sheets to the wind by this point."

She eyed the small satchel the servants had packed and that she had stashed in her saddlebag, mulling over her thoughts.

"You know what? Let's just go," she decided, planting her foot in the stirrup and hauling herself up onto her horse. The mare was a deep chestnut color, her coat lustrous. "She's beautiful. What is her name?"

"Lady," he told her with a straight face. "She's Delilah's, although my sister really doesn't ride her often at all. Poor creature could use the exercise."

"That's quite uncharitable of you. I think Delilah looks just fine!" she teased.

He cast her an exasperated look.

"I meant the horse!"

He rode beside her and reached over to give a firm slaps to Lady's rump, setting her off into a lively trot. Elissa grabbed the reins tightly and grimaced as she tried to keep up with the horse's rhythm.

* * *

They rode on winding dirt trails crossing expansive fields, the tall grass undulating and rippling in the breeze. Conversation flowed with familiar ease, casually, as Elissa indulged Nathaniel's passion for history and local lore and he eagerly inquired about her training, expressing his wish that he, too, had an opportunity to train with soldiers.

"Can I tell you something, though?" she told him at one point, as they meandered down a path through an orchard in bloom. A gust of wind stirred the treetops, noisily ruffling the leaves. "Whether discussing the valor of soldiers versus guards or Templars… the truth is, I am fascinated by the Grey Wardens," she confided.

His eyes widened and he peered at her with excitement.

"The Grey Wardens! I find them intriguing, as well! They are surrounded by so much secrecy. Do you know what I have heard?"

"What?" she asked, leaning towards him, feeling the necessity to keep their words private, despite the desolate fields surrounding them.

"I've been told the Wardens tend to conscript those who would otherwise be condemned to dismal fates: execution, imprisonment…Among them are a score of men and women given second chances. Do you think the Wardens are so dedicated because they have been given an opportunity for redemption?"

She shrugged.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps they're motivated by their order's legacy…I've been told that the Wardens display the horns of ogres and the recovered weapons of defeated darkspawn in their headquarters in Weisshaupt," she stated conspiratorially.

"How far is Weisshaupt, anyway?"

"You are telling me you don't know?" Elissa cried. "Come, now! You are supposed to be the keeper of the lore, Ser Knight!"

"I know it is somewhere in the Anderfels!" he retorted indignantly. "Have some faith, my lady!" He rolled his eyes.

At this point, dark clouds had collected overhead and all the foliage around them billowed wildly with the blustering wind.

"We should find shelter," he told her, examining the dark sky.

"Should we try to outrun it?"

A rash of raindrops splattered over them.

"No time," he concluded, sitting up in his saddle and glancing around them. "Follow me!" he called, stirring his horse into a gallop.

She followed him as led them through the tall grass around a hillside and across a wide field. Thunder rumbled heavily overhead and the rain poured down in earnest: thin and sharp as it cascaded over them. He pointed out a large structure in the near distance—a barn—and they rode towards it.

Nathaniel quickly dismounted once they reached it and pulled open the heavy doors. She rode in, soaking wet, droplets of water falling from her hair. She watched him usher in his mount before shutting the doors against the stormy wind. They stood in awed silence as thunder shook the small barn and flashes of lightning illuminated the gloomy interior.

"That was close," Nathaniel mumbled.

"Maker, the rain has soaked me through and we couldn't have been out there for more than a few minutes," she remarked, twisting her damp hair.

He wiped his face and walked the horses further in.

"Not a barn… a hayloft," he noted.

Wide boards lined empty stalls and a light layer of leftover hay littered the floorboards. A rickety-looking ladder rested against a loft filled with disheveled tufts and bales of hay.

Nathaniel tended to the horses as she stared out the narrow window. The sky had grown an inky shade of dark grey.

"I hope the others aren't caught in this," she sighed.

"I am sure they'll find shelter somewhere. Much to the misfortune of their hapless hosts," he replied, startling her. He was standing behind her all of a sudden, his eyes trained on the thundering sky.

"It came out of nowhere," he whispered, surprised at the storm's violence.

She tried not to stare as he slicked back his dark damp hair, his neck glistening with raindrops.

"Are you cold?" he asked solicitously.

"I've been more comfortable, but I'm all right."

Her soaked sleeves adhered to her skin.

"Let me see what I can find here," he stated, poking through the stalls.

"I brought some food," she called out, walking towards her horse and taking the satchel she had secured earlier. "It's not much: some bread and some cheese," she announced.

"How Fereldan of you!" he joked from the back of one of the stalls.

"You mean of _you_! This is from _your_ kitchen, after all!"

"I brought a skin of wine," he informed her.

"Wine?" she puzzled.

"If I was spending an afternoon with Thomas and friends, I most certainly deserved it—Nay: _required_ it." He emerged empty-handed from the stalls. "Well, nothing here. I think this barn is only used for storing hay.

"At least Lady and Dragon won't starve," she concluded.

She watched him cross the room and drag bales of hay together.

"Come sit—we don't need to starve either," he waved her over, setting his wineskin over the surface of one.

"I appreciate the gesture, but I don't really eat hay..." she began apologetically.

His eyes widened, full of mirth.

"Are you hinting that perhaps I am an ass?"

"If the horseshoe fits..." She shrugged gamely.

He snorted and shook his head.

She hoped the bread wasn't too soggy as she opened the satchel and spread the cloth down. She reached for the small dagger she carried in her belt and offered him the knife ceremoniously.

"My good Ser, won't you please cut the cheese," she requested.

"My good lady, you are the ass," he chuckled, taking the dagger from her hands. "The only thing that stinks in here are your jokes."

She grinned as he struggled to make a clean cut over the unsteady surface. He offered her the first slice off the blade, and she ripped off a chunk of hearty bread.

Soon they were sharing the wineskin between them and laughing as they remembered past adventures and exploits. At one point, he leaned closer, and seizing the wineskin from her, contemplated her pensively.

"What?" she asked, expecting some mischief from him.

"Nothing," he grinned, capping it before setting it on the ground. "I was just thinking…"

"What about?" she asked, picking crumbs off her damp tunic.

"That I've missed this," he said, the grin fading from his face.

"Being trapped in a rainstorm in a hayloft?" she teased nervously, struck by the earnest expression in his face.

"No—this. Our talking this way."

She smiled, but said nothing.

"May I ask you something?" he asked in a gentler tone. "Why did you stop writing me?"

She startled.

"Stop writing you? I did no such thing! You are the one who took longer and longer to reply to my letters!" she protested.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist.

"I suppose it was partially my fault," he sighed. "I had so little of interest to convey."

"That's not true," she chided him. "I always loved receiving your letters."

"You did?" he asked softly.

"Yes!" she continued, her pulse quickening. "They were so delightful! And your drawings…" she grinned, remembering.

"Maker, I was hoping you'd burned all of those…" He feigned horror.

"I've kept them all," she revealed impishly. "In a small stack. Sometimes, I reread them. They lift my spirits."

He looked down, still smiling.

"That's very sweet of you to say," he told her. His hand shot out and seized hers. "Would you write to me again?" he asked thoughtfully, contemplating the ground.

"Of course," she declared.

"You will need to send your missives farther, however."

She peered at him curiously, their silence punctuated by the drumming of the rain overhead.

"Where are you going?" she asked, squeezing his hand tighter.

"I am to go to my mother's cousin, Ser Rodolphe Varley, in the Marches… to be properly squired."

Elissa tried to disguise her disappointment. She knew how much Nathaniel had yearned to live the life of a knight. But a small part of her tugged at her despondently: even though she hadn't seen Nathaniel for over a year at that point, the thought he was always there, just across the border from Highever, had been comforting to her. The realization he would be farther away, across the sea, filled her with a perplexing array of emotions.

"That is brilliant news!" she cheered instead. "It's what you always wanted, isn't it? You will get to be a knight, after all!"

He searched her eyes.

"I don't want to go," he stated bluntly.

She gave him a bewildered grimace.

"Wait…I don't think I heard that right. This is your dream come true, is it not?"

"And like all foolish dreams, it should remain unattainable," he complained. "I would rather remain here," he told her. "Because…I don't like what this could mean. You know, it takes years to be squired—and I am the heir of Amaranthine. I don't understand why my father is making me go so far away all of a sudden."

She held still, considering his words.

"I am uneasy with it…All of it. Even this celebration. Do you remember ever coming to something similar for me? My father told me it wasn't necessary—as the first-born my birthright does not need to be reaffirmed…But over the past couple of years, I suspect he has turned his sights on Thomas instead…and seeks to favor him over me."

"Why would you think such a thing?"

He withdrew his hand from hers.

"I've never really wanted the responsibility of ruling the arling," he began. "I don't have the patience…the nature. But I was resigned to my fate." He paused for a moment, pondering his next words. "I believe…my father has given up on me."

She shook her head.

"Don't say that!"

"It's true," he raised his grey eyes to her. "And that's all right. Perhaps it will be for the best. It might be a good thing if I am away from here. I've been such a disappointment…and now I've gone and ruined things."

"What do you mean?"

"This party—this celebration—was something of a last chance for me."

"I don't understand."

"I am supposed to be courting Lady Oleanna and attempting to win her favor."

"Bann Hugh's daughter?"

He nodded weakly.

"Since Fergus never expressed any interest in Delilah, my father set his sights upon the next great prospect: Lord Hugh's lands in the Bannorn, which Oleanna would stand to inherit as his sole heir…But… I can't go through with it," he admitted, almost shyly.

"Why not? Lady Oleanna seems well-bred, charming," she detailed, even as a twinge of jealousy tugged at her.

"Elissa, I don't want to be in a loveless marriage. From everything I've observed, it drains the soul. The unpleasantness is relentless and intimate, and it affects everyone exposed to it. I see how every day. My father detests my mother. The two can barely talk to each other anymore without hurling accusations and insults at each other and exhibiting contempt. She is constantly feigning illness to avoid him, and it suits him just as well. They are expending a monumental amount of restraint to present a united front this visit. I know once everyone leaves, they will be at each other's throats again."

"I'm sorry," was all she could say.

"So to answer your question: No, I could never love Lady Oleanna," he decided. "No matter how much land she stands to inherit."

"But you hardly know her! Perhaps if you were to give her a chance—"

"I know it for a fact."

"How can you be so certain?" she chastised him.

"Because it became clear to me the moment you arrived," he said.

 _Oh_.

In the near distance, thunder resounded again. The heart of the storm had begun to drift farther, but the rain still fell heavily.

"I admit I was giving it a half-hearted go," he revealed. "But then… you just had to show up… and remind me of …Of all the things I truly wish for myself."

She contemplated him sadly, remembering the spirited boy, the companion of many an afternoon performing heroic deeds. To her, his mind had always seemed ablaze with a passion inspired by all those stories, by all the lore he had gleaned over the years. Greatness, she had always thought, was certain to touch Nathaniel Howe; he had a strong sense of justice and a generous heart. Perhaps others around him were of a different mind. Perhaps others defined greatness as something else.

His face peered back at her, shadowy in the darkness of the barn.

"What do you truly wish for?" she asked him.

He drew nearer, his face closer to hers.

"Right now? I truly wish for… your kiss," he uttered in a half whisper.


	5. Storm (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***********NSFW************

"But flaming youth in all its madness  
Keeps nothing of its heart concealed"

-Alexander Pushkin

* * *

 

 

Elissa held still, examining Nathaniel cautiously. He was so near she could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. They had been friends for so long, she thought. Why would she go ahead and complicate their relationship when it was obvious that he was going through some kind of personal turmoil?

But as she peered into those gentle eyes, a blush rose over her cheeks, and she realized that, yes: she did want to kiss him.

She leaned closer and gave him a small peck on the lips.

The moment her lips touched his, a pleasant tingle ran down her spine. His eyes remained shut, and he inhaled deeply. She couldn't help staring at his full lips headily before his hands cupped her face and he tentatively returned her kiss. She brushed the stubborn strand of hair hanging over his face away and smiled, but the intensity of his stare made her heart beat faster.

_More._

He reached for her, clasping her to him and kissing her more urgently, a light flick of his tongue grazing her lips and she reciprocated, as eager as he.

Outside, the rain beat against the rooftop steadily, loudly.

Their lips glided over each other sensuously, his tongue stroking hers. She savored his taste in her mouth, his proximity inebriating.

When they almost tipped over onto the ground as their kissing intensified, he finally stood up, and taking her hand, led her towards the small ladder to the hayloft. He held it steady for her as she climbed up unquestioningly, a giddy rush assailing her. Once he reached the top, he pulled her by the hand into his arms and they toppled together onto the piles of hay. They laughed, tossing handfuls of straw at each other until she lunged for his arm, trying to prevent him from lobbing another fistful of straw at her. She fell over him, her breasts pressing against his chest. Their laughter faded as they stared at each other, slightly breathless from the roughhousing. He gingerly encircled her waist and she allowed him to kiss her again. Those kisses were different—more ardent. His hands ran down the side of her tunic, brushing against her breasts, his touch unleashing a deep longing within her. She had some experience—although up until that point her encounters had always been very restrained. She had always set clear limits and things seldom went beyond kissing and some bolder caresses over clothing. But in Nathaniel's arms at that moment she wanted to chase the longing he had managed to arouse and that was causing that maddening, intense throbbing between her legs. Right then she didn't want to think of boundaries and propriety—the rawness of the emotion demanded she surrender. Their hands wandered over each other's bodies, seeking for bare skin beneath their clothes. She held her breath in anticipation when he found his way beneath her tunic, sliding his fingers beneath her modest binding and palming her breast.

Although she was forming the impression that he knew how to proceed better than she did when it came to those matters, it excited her to see the unchecked ardor in his eyes. His hands trembled almost reverently as he caressed her. At one point he sat up abruptly to yank off his vest and shirt. As he did so, she couldn't help splaying her hand over his chest: his skin was still damp from the rain and he drew a sharp breath as her hand touched him. He did not have the compact, brawny build of a soldier, but he had an athletic, elegant physique—taut and strong. Emboldened, she imitated him and gathered her tunic up. It practically flew off over her head as he aided her, tossing it aside, along with her unfastened chest binding. In the dim lighting of the rainy afternoon, it occurred to her that she had never exposed herself to a man like that before. She blushed from both a sudden bashfulness and desire. His eyes trailed her nakedness covetously, only inciting her more. Lying astride each other, they exchanged more tantalizing kisses. She squirmed each time his fingers lightly grazed her nipples, his touch seductive and provocative. He ran his fingertips down, tracing the curve of her back and slipping his hand past her trousers' waistband, resting over her bottom. He pushed his hips against hers and her breath hitched.

She had never let anyone go that far with her, she thought dazedly, drawing away from him, their lips raw from the kisses and small bites they had given each other.

His face was flushed, too.

"Is this all right?" he wondered, mesmerized by her.

She nodded.

"Are you sure?" he insisted in disbelief.

Mildly annoyed by his reticence, she began to undo the buttons of her riding breeches. It was only once she peeled off her trousers that she grasped the implication of what she was about to do with him.

_I am lying in a pile of hay, almost naked, practically offering myself to him._

_But… I want this_ , she told herself, shooing away any hesitation.

 _I want him_ , she decided as his mouth trailed over her neck hotly, past her collarbone and down to her breasts, where he kissed and circled his tongue over her hardened nipples.

Impatient and eager to touch him, she reached decisively for his trousers, boldly dragging her palm over his thigh. She reveled when his breathing grew more ragged as her hand ran back and forth over the front of his trousers, tantalizingly avoiding the hard bulge pushing against the laces. When she lightly traced her fingertips along his erection, he gasped. He tore her hand away and unlaced the trousers, lifting his hips to tug them off.

Elissa's eyes widened and she hoped he hadn't noticed: she had never seen a man naked that way before. Or rather, she had seen naked men before…just never in a state of arousal like Nathaniel was then.

For a second she panicked.

_I can't go through with this._

"What's the matter?" he called out to her softly once he saw her expression.

She tried to articulate the reason for her caginess but could only stare disconcertedly at the large erection in front of her.

She had fondled and teased her partners before, but she had never actually seen what one of those bulges looked like once sprung loose.

He peered down at himself and then back at her with a wary look.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked in a suspicious tone.

Her eyes darted away, sheepishly.

"It's all right," he told her, settling beside her. "We don't have to go through with it." He brushed his thumb over her mouth before kissing it once more. "This is nice, too," he whispered.

"Don't you want to?" she asked almost timidly.

"Maker, yes!" he grinned. "But I need to know: would this be…your first time?"

An awkward silence settled between them despite the storm raging outside.

 _Enough_ , she declared to herself defiantly.

She reached for him, taking his cock in her hands, startling at how firm he felt, how smooth and warm he was. He tossed his head back and hissed when she began to run her hand up and down his length.

As she steadily stroked him, he let his fingers wander over her small clothes, caressing her between her legs. She was caught off guard by the intensity of his touch. She shivered as he rubbed his fingers over her cotton smalls and inadvertently squeezed her hand around his cock harder than intended.

"Careful!" he cried out, to her embarrassment.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted out guiltily, removing her hand immediately.

"It's all right," he reassured her again. He eyed her curiously. "This is your first time, isn't it? Why won't you admit it?"

A deep blush stung her cheeks.

 _How mortifying_ , she thought. _Is it that evident?_

He stroked her cheek.

"Why?"

"Why what?" she snapped, folding her arms over her chest.

"Why me?" He sought her downcast eyes with affection.

"Why not?" she countered.

"First times…aren't that pleasant," he told her.

_And now my humiliation is complete._

She sat up, turning away from him, as if to rise and begin searching for her belongings, but his hand shot out over her shoulder to still her.

"Wait!" he begged. "Please."

"I think we should go back now. The others might be worried about us."

He peered towards the window.

"It is raining still," he murmured. "We have time."

She continued to protectively brace her breasts with her arm.

"In case you haven't noticed, that was a polite way of saying we are done here."

He balked.

"Just like that? Why? Are you ashamed you are a virgin?"

She looked away and said nothing.

"I still want to be with you…like this. Very much so. But you should have said something—I could have hurt you," he chided her. He slipped his hand down from her shoulder to her arm, stroking her skin, a pleasant flush rising along the trail of his touch. "Will you let me be your first?" he asked, nuzzling the nape of her neck with his nose. She closed her eyes despite herself. He swept her hair off her shoulder and began to kiss her neck while his hands sought to lower her arm away from her breasts.

"Come here," he said finally, sitting back into the pile of hay. She turned her head, dazed, seeking for him, wanting more. She crawled to where he was lying, his arm extended, waiting for her, and as she settled beside him, he began to stroke her hips and thighs, careful to leave enough distance between their bodies. They kissed again, faint moans escaping her throat. She reached out to touch him again, but he stopped her.

"Wait," he whispered. Instead, his hand slipped down between her legs and he began to rub her over her small clothes once more.

Her eyes widened and she tensed. She had let her partners caress her in that manner, but it had been through more layers of clothing. It had obviously felt good, but what Nathaniel was doing was something different all together. What he was doing to her was making her simply melt—it was at once delicious and tempting— and she was having trouble even focusing on kissing him. He maintained a steady rhythm and she closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasure his fingers were giving her. Just as he intensified that delicious pressure, he surprised her by pulling her small clothes aside. She gasped audibly, instinctively trying to sit up, but she was met with that determined, intense gaze of his, a roguish grin on his lips.

"I think you are enjoying this," he teased, lightly sliding his fingers directly over her exposed, wet clit.

She wanted to say something biting to put him in his place, but before she could reply, his finger dipped lightly into her, spreading her wetness over her nub. She moaned softly, finding that her need for him to make her feel as good as she was feeling right then overrode any assertion of propriety. It was driving her mad to look down and see his hand touching her between her legs. She tried to part them further, but her small clothes had been stretched as far as they would go. She raised her bottom and rapidly tugged them off. He helped her slide them past her ankles and flung them onto the mound of their combined discarded clothes.

She expected him to continue, but instead he paused, contemplating her nakedness.

"Maker's Breath," he whispered, awed. "You are a vision. You are more lovely than I've ever dreamed."

"Than you've ever dreamed?" she laughed nervously at the lusty expression in his eyes.

"Oh yes," he told her in a raspy voice. "Many times…many ways," he revealed.

He resumed petting the soft curls as she spread herself wider for him. Her whole body throbbed from the heightening pleasure.

He whispered into her ear.

"I love that I can make you this excited," he provoked.

His finger slipped inside her just before returning to tease her pleasantly throbbing clit. She raised her hips, pushing into his hand, lost to the exhilarating sensation.

And then he stopped.

She raised her head in protest, but he had moved up to position himself between her legs.

She tensed at the sight of his cock so close, but he caressed her thighs, spreading them wider apart.

"I won't do it just yet," he reassured her.

He gripped his cock, but instead of plunging her, rubbed the tip back and forth against her slit instead.

She leaned back again and bit her lip.

 _This feels too good_ , she sighed.

This time they both moaned, his engorged tip glistening with her slick wetness. With each pass of his cock, she began to push herself into it slightly, teasingly, and each time he would linger longer. Finally it was too much—the intensity pushed her over her limit. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pulsing that rippled throughout her entire body, leaving her tingling and lightheaded. She was still feeling the last throes of her release when he aimed the head of his cock over her slit.

"Elissa?" he pleaded, his body arching over hers.

She nodded, flushed, ready, terrified and exhilarated. He pushed, entering her slowly until he was fully inside her. She clenched her teeth and winced, holding her breath at first.

"Don't tense up," he whispered. "It'll hurt more if you do."

She exhaled shakily and he pulled halfway out before gently thrusting back in. It ached, she realized—a tugging ache, a fullness, but it wasn't as painful as she had anticipated and not entirely unpleasant. She noticed he was watching her intently and met his gaze inquisitively.

"Are we—" she began.

"Yes," he exhaled.

He began to move at a steadier pace and she ran her hands over his shoulders, sliding down to rest them over the small of his back, feeling him rise and fall. She watched in wonder as he closed his eyes, panting, lost in blissful pleasure. When she wriggled her hips slightly to position herself better, he drew a sharp breath and bucked into her harder, faster. She caressed his face and kissed his ear, intrigued by the effect she was having on him. Just then, he buried his head in her neck, tensing up before a forceful shudder. His hips slowed and he rode his release until he finally stilled, lying atop her, their bodies flush against each other. She held him tightly until he raised his head and sought her lips. They kissed tenderly, smiling between kisses.

"Are you all right?" he asked, settling beside her and reaching for her.

She nodded. She rested her head on his chest as his arm encircled her shoulder.

"Was it too painful?" He searched her eyes.

"No," she assured him. "Maybe a little bit…at first." But he'd made her feel so amazingly good before that.

"It feels better the more you do it, you know," he hinted suggestively.

"Nathaniel Howe," she stated saucily, lifting her head up. "I am convinced you are quite the liar."

He looked at her in surprise.

"How so?" he puzzled.

"You said you had stopped writing to me because there was nothing of interest to report…" she teased. "When in fact, I suspect you have been keeping yourself _quite_ busy!"

He suppressed a grin.

"What's a lad to do?" he shrugged. "Amaranthine is dull…And can you imagine if I had written you about my…other endeavors? I'm quite sure you would not have shown up for this event!"

"Mmm…Maybe if you had drawn some pictures…" she joked.

His chest rumbled with laughter, and he hugged her tighter as he began to tickle her. She burst out laughing as well, the warmth and sincerity of his smile tugging at her heart.

 


	6. The Change

“You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it.”  
― Neil Gaiman

* * *

 

They rode back past the soaked fields, fresh rain puddles dappling the dirt paths. Droplets sprayed upon them when they disturbed bushes or low hanging branches along the road.

Although they spoke little, the silence between them was not devoid of meaning. Elissa found herself somewhat flustered, even a bit shy. At one point she had begun telling him something or another, but she became quiet as their eyes locked and they smiled at each other instead. She remembered how he helped her back on her horse, his hands slipping over her waist with intimate familiarity.

She stole furtive glances at him, marveling at how close childhood friends could become so tongue tied and bashful around each other. The awkwardness wasn't unpleasant, though. She liked that he seemed as disoriented as she. Perhaps the afternoon had been as intense and meaningful to him as it had been to her, she hoped.

Nathaniel's demeanor changed once they approached the fortress' gates, somber and foreboding in the distance. As she surveyed the path leading downwards into a valley, she could understand why. She had never found Vigil's Keep welcoming; no amount of wall tapestries and overstuffed chairs could conceal or temper the fact that the estate was a military stronghold—one of Ferelden's oldest—and the site of battles and sieges and death and destruction. Before they rode down towards the gate, he leaned closer to her and gently plucked a stray stalk of hay from her hair.

"I wish we could just keep riding on," he confessed, glancing down at the stalk wistfully.

"We'd eventually have to stop, you know," she told him.

He turned to look at in her in surprise.

"Mundane things like dinner and one's bladder get in the way," she sighed, trying to lighten the mood.

He looked away in amused reproach.

"What's our story for the others once we arrive?" he asked as they approached the imposing entrance to Vigil's Keep.

"You don't think they'll appreciate your telling them how you ravished me in a hayloft the moment they looked away?" she asked cheekily, anticipating his reaction.

"I wish I could tell them how I truly feel," he told her with a disarming sincerity.

She averted her eyes, training them to the ground ahead, flustered by his words.

"Besides… you ravished _me_ , my lady," he added in a low voice with a sly grin.

Her expression of indignation made him laugh again.

Not even the levity of the moment, though, could ease the melancholy that settled upon them as they crossed the gates.

* * *

Nathaniel handed the horses' reins to the grooms.

"Have my brother and his party arrived?" he asked one of the men in the stable.

"Not yet, my lord," he replied.

That was a relief.

Nathaniel escorted her towards the estate dutifully, both of them acutely aware of the gaze of the many servants and guards stationed throughout the grounds. He walked her past the foyer, where his mother stood speaking to other guests.

"I hope you enjoyed the outing," Nathaniel declared in parting, mostly, she knew, for the benefit of their many eavesdroppers.

"I did," she nodded. "Thank you for showing me the beautiful grounds." She offered him a smile. "I will cherish the memory," she stated meaningfully.

"It was my pleasure," he replied softly, that familiar warm glint in his eyes.

They both hesitated before breaking away in different directions. She began to make her way up the stairs to her room, casting a quick glance over her shoulder.

He was gone.

When she turned around she almost ran into none other than her mother.

"There you are!" Eleanor cheered. "How was the coast?"

"I ended up not going," she replied, startled.

Her mother puzzled.

"No? Where were you all this time then?"

"I had set out with Thomas' party originally, but my horse was too skittish and I had to ride back for another. Nathaniel was kind enough to accompany me. We didn't want to delay the others, so they went on without us. We ended up going for a ride on a nearby countryside trail instead," she detailed, trying her best to sound casual.

"How nice." Her mother examined her disheveled figure. "And I assume you were caught in that horrible downpour."

"Yes!" Elissa quickly replied, furrowing her brows. "We ended up soaked to the bone."

"It was ghastly," her mother agreed, her eyes perusing the sky from the window beside them. "I wonder if we are in for more. I am hoping my seafaring bones are wrong. It would be a shame: tomorrow is Thomas' ceremony. "

 _Oh, he deserves it_ , Elissa thought.

"Well, dearest, run up to wash off and change. Dinner is supposed to be served on the hour." She lowered her voice. "I'm glad you are back already: I think Eliane is quite peeved that there is no sign of Thomas and friends yet."

 _Maybe they were gobbled up by a dragon_ , she smirked.

Her mother patted her arm.

"Go," she encouraged. "Your father and I will be in the parlor if you'd like to join us in a bit."

She nodded, eager to get away and have a moment to herself.

* * *

Elissa leaned against the bedroom door as it locked behind her, thinking of the significance of what she and Nathaniel had done that afternoon. The mirror standing in the corner offered no clear revelations, though: she looked no different than she had that morning.

_Just another threshold crossed, a mystery clarified._

Still, she could not explain why she felt strange. She went about mundane chores: the tub filled up noisily in the adjacent washroom as she laid one of the formal dresses her mother had chosen for her to bring over the bed. Outside the window, daylight faded as gold and red hues streaked the sky. She stripped off her clothes, finding them slightly damp still and was relieved she hadn't gone on the ride with Thomas' group. Riding over winding trails back to the fortress, shivering in the dark—that was not something she found pleasant at all.

And had she gone with the others, she mused, flushing, she wouldn't have spent that afternoon in Nathaniel's arms…

As she entered the tub, grateful for the comforting warmth of the water, she finally grasped why she felt strange: she did not appear any different. According to everything she had ever heard or read, one's first time was expected to be a momentous event; now that it had passed, other than the faint smudge of blood staining her small clothes and a little tenderness between her legs, nothing about her had changed. She was still herself, still Elissa, she found, with relief.

* * *

She joined the other guests assembled in the lively parlor awaiting the invitation into the formal dining room; she had heard other guests mention that Thomas and his companions had arrived only moments earlier and had been duly scolded to hurry. As she tried to make her way towards her parents, who were engrossed in conversation with another party, she was continuously deterred and forced to greet different acquaintances and engage in congenial small talk, repeating the story about her countryside excursion, commiserating again and again about the terrible storm. At one point she raised her eyes, attempting to dissimulate her unavoidable tedium as she launched into retelling her afternoon battle with the weather for the fourth or fifth time when she caught sight of Nathaniel standing across the way from her.

A surge of emotion overwhelmed her and all she could do was stand still, heart thumping wildly, mouth going dry. She was frozen in place, suddenly oblivious to the chatter around her. He hadn't seen her yet and was speaking to two of his father's acquaintances, wearing fine formal clothing and striking such a handsome figure it made her weak in the knees.

She was unable to draw her eyes away as he reacted to whatever his stately companions were going on about.

Something, she realized with alarm, had changed after all.

Her persistent stare might as well have been a summons: he turned his head eventually and finally saw her standing only a few feet away from him. She drew a few deep breaths to maintain her composure, noticing how his demeanor changed at the sight of her, how he gazed upon her at once tenderly and roguishly. At that moment all she wanted was to be close to him. At that moment she wished all those people around them would disappear so they could steal away together again.

Yes, something had definitely shifted between them and she'd been naïve to think any changes wrought by a physical act would have been limited to her body alone.

She understood then that she had fallen in love.

 


	7. Easy Virtue and Scoundrels

"[A]muse yourself with rousing my jealousy; but take care you don't rouse my hate instead."

-Anne Brontë

* * *

         

Before that evening, Elissa would not have thought twice about Lady Oleanna.

She was someone she considered merely as a nodding acquaintance, one of the many heiresses one ran into during the social season in various Fereldan circles. But that evening, as Elissa glanced down towards the opposite end of the long dining room table, she paid closer attention to the fair-haired, green-eyed young woman, growing annoyed at herself for trying to establish comparisons between them. It didn't help that Nathaniel had been seated beside her and engaged in conversation with her throughout the dinner. She forced herself to look away once she caught a glimpse of Oleanna laughing brightly at something Nathaniel had said, his own gaze downcast and a faint smile lingering on his lips.

Elissa found herself at a loss, unsure of what she could—or should—expect. That Nathaniel would be seated beside Lady Oleanna was no surprise nor should she interpret it as a slight against her; he had mentioned his parents' wishes that he court her. _He is expected to spend time with her_ , she explained to herself, her stomach sinking anytime Oleanna erupted in peals of laughter during what appeared to be a cozy conversation between the two.

What had he said to her earlier? That he could never go through with any plans of engagement with Oleanna?

She raked her fork over her meal, pretending to listen to the dry tale one of the Banns sitting in front of her was telling.

And what if Nathaniel had just said what he'd said that afternoon because he was intent on seducing her? Perhaps he'd only confided in her earlier because his objective had been, all along, to find a way to bed her.

She clenched her silverware tighter and raised her eyes. He was resting his elbow on the table, leaning his cheek over his fist, listening to Oleanna recount something to him.

 _Perhaps I am looking for more where there is nothing._ Maybe she had savored all there was to it already: a pleasant afternoon, an escape from their duties and all the expectations heaped upon them.

She joined in on the polite laughter at the Bann's story, lifting a crystal goblet to her lips.

One more stealthy glance down the table and she immediately regretted it: Oleanna had leaned in, still narrating her story, this time punctuating it with little strokes to his arm as she spoke. Nathaniel remained attentive to her. Not once did she catch his grey eyes searching for her.

Elissa might as well have been forking a heap of ashes into her mouth. She lost her appetite and was struck by a foreboding sense of imprudence when she thought of how easily she had surrendered to Nathaniel Howe's attentions earlier.

 _Just one more conquest_ , she imagined, fighting against her jealousy. The truth was that he had merely expressed affection for her, confessed his attraction. He had not promised her anything—all he had done was ask for a renewal of their friendship…and for a kiss. And he'd given her ample opportunity to stop the progression of events that afternoon.

 _It was I who wanted to pursue those feelings to the end_ , _who sought more because I thought…hoped?...there was more to what we both felt for each other_ , she admitted. _I am the one being foolish right now_ , she concluded. _What could I possibly expect? He has his filial obligations… and I have mine._

As far as it concerned her, the evening was over. The lighthearted, tender feelings he had inspired earlier began to fade, replaced by a sharp sense of embarrassment at how poorly she had interpreted the situation. Had she wanted something more? What more could he possibly want from her? The memory of the afternoon would now be tainted by that misunderstanding, she realized remorsefully. She tried to be pragmatic: as far as first times went, hers had been enjoyable. Maybe over time she would come to remember it with affection rather than regret. Maybe someday she would be able to distinguish between physical attraction and…something deeper.

She placed her silverware down and pushed her plate away.

"Is anything the matter?" a solicitous voice asked beside her. It was a noble—she couldn't remember who it was for the life of her. He'd been occupied talking to the woman seated at his other side. "You appear distraught."

"Indeed," she agreed. "I am sure it's nothing a good night of sleep won't remedy, though."

"You are Bryce's daughter, aren't you?" the man continued amiably.

"Aye," she confirmed.

"Were you among the unfortunate lot of youths that ventured out for the ride to view the Amaranthine Ocean? I don't see how it would vastly differ from enjoying the view from the closer-by inlet…" he asked in a mocking tone.

"I was not," she explained quickly. "I explored some local trails instead."

"I hope you didn't venture out all on your own! Rendon's men seem to be spread out everywhere these days, but there are long, desolate stretches of road coursing Amaranthine that offer some poorly intentioned folk all kind of opportunity for banditry!"

_Nosy man._

"I had a reliable guide in Nathaniel Howe," she stated simply, her eyes shifting to the handsome young man who was absorbed, along with his companion, in listening to someone else speak.

"Ah," the man began slowly. "Yes… Nathaniel." He turned his head as well to contemplate him. "Are you two well acquainted?" The question was asked innocently enough, but the man's tone was positively Orlesian in its shrewdness.

"Nathaniel and I are childhood friends. We grew up together," she explained pointedly. "Other than his siblings, I am probably the one friend he has had the longest here."

" I see," the man stated pensively. "So would you say you know him well?"

"As well as most of his oldest friends," she surmised, growing a tad more uneasy at the scrutiny.

She raised a glass of wine to her lips and took a few sips.

"Rumor has it he is a bit of a rake," the man confided, leaning in closer to her. "Would you second that impression?" he grinned.

Elissa choked on her wine and quickly covered her lips with her napkin.

"Are you all right?" The man raised a hand to her arm.

She shakily gasped for breath, thankful the coughing gave her such a good excuse as to why her face was so red at that moment.

"Forgive me: your question surprised me," she finally managed to say. I have known Nathaniel for a long time and I have never known him to act inappropriately towards any lady. But then again, you must excuse my lack of knowledge in this matter; I doubt he would confide in me regarding such affairs," she explained. "Perhaps you ought to be asking this of some of his other acquaintances," she suggested. "I am nothing more than a childhood companion."

She'd meant the comment as a final rebuke to thwart the man's inspection. He appeared to relent.

"Well…Perhaps it is just that, then: a rumor. Such things do have a tendency to dog young men, especially those of better breeding and a striking countenance such as his. He seems amiable enough… Definitely not a wastrel or a braggart… And not a bad lad if he has childhood friends vouching for his character," the man flashed a grin at her. "I appreciate your candor. You see, his name has been uttered quite frequently by my niece lately." He pointed discreetly. "Do you know Oleanna?"

The whole evening had taken a turn for the worse. She couldn't wait to retire to her quarters and be left alone again.

"Only in passing. I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure."

"I should definitely introduce you, then! It would serve her well to have an ally in this endeavor of hers: it appears she fancies Nathaniel enough to see that something more serious comes of it…It might be nice for her to have a friend provide some insights as to the interests of the object of her affections," the man offered.

"I'm afraid I'd be of little help." She slipped her hands beneath the table, over her knees. They had begun to tremble slightly. "Unless she'd like to know what some of his more obvious tells are at Wicked Grace…"

The man laughed, amused.

"So tell me something," he began again, to her enormous chagrin.

She peered up courteously, a tight smile over her lips.

"Were you caught in that _horrid_ downpour this afternoon?"

She inhaled deeply.

 _Maker give me patience_ …

 


	8. Think but This, and All Is Mended

           “What I cannot love, I overlook.”   
― Anaïs Nin

* * *

 

 

    

Elissa was resenting Fergus deeply throughout dinner. Maybe things wouldn't have spiraled so out of control that day if she'd had her brother and sister-in-law to tag along with. He had managed to extricate himself from having to attend the celebration by offering an excuse about some of Oriana's Antivan relatives visiting Highever en route to Denerim. The truth was that Oriana was bedridden with severe morning sickness and Fergus refused to leave Highever. They also did not want anyone outside the family knowing just yet that they would be welcoming a new heir. Her mother and father appeared like they were about to burst from having to hold in the news each time they repeated the rehearsed lie regarding their firstborn's conspicuous absence.

She remained close to her parents after dinner, sitting beside them passively as they held conversations with various guests on various subjects. She was biding her time to make a polite exit, waiting with ill-contained impatience as the first round of after-dinner spirits was leisurely consumed. On the other side of the room, Thomas held court as conversation and laughter grew rowdier. Nathaniel remained faithfully by Oleanna's side. She had to remind herself that he had probably received an unequivocal directive ordering him to lavish Oleanna with attention during the festivities. He had told her as much.

_I can hardly expect that he defy his family so openly and insult Bann Hugh and Oleanna in the process._

As much as Nathaniel hated the business of someday ruling the arling, she knew he was no newcomer to social maneuvering. Although Ferelden was no longer under Orlesian rule, the machinations involved in playing The Game had forever impacted Fereldan politics.

Still, she thought despondently, he could have given her small signs, some kind of reassurance that…

 _That what?_ she thought to herself harshly. There she was again, searching for something more than attraction.

"Elissa!" Eleanor called out.

She looked back, startled, at her mother.

"Where did you go off to for a moment there?" her mother teased. "I might as well have been talking to a wall."

"You'd like that better, my love: the walls don't talk back," Bryce joked.

She cast him a peeved look before contemplating her daughter.

"I asked you if you'd rather join the others, over there," she indicated Thomas and his party with a nod. "It can hardly be entertaining sitting here with us listening to your father report back on the fascinating dinner conversation he exchanged with Bann Leigh."

Her father pretended to be gravely insulted.

"The poor man has been dealing with bouts of gout over the last few months!"

"It was bad enough hearing it the first time; you don't need to retell it."

Bryce grinned, savoring his wife's annoyance.

"I think this deserves a reprise of how he awoke one night with his big toe throbbing in agony!" he began.

"Maker preserve us," she sighed, casting him an exasperated look.

Bryce sat up and turned around in his chair.

"Leigh, my friend! Won't you come here and tell Eleanor about your toe?" he called out to a large, bulky man standing close by. "She was most intrigued by how the illness manifested itself and I simply cannot do the story justice!"

The burly man began to head in their direction.

"Oh, it was terrible," he began from afar, obviously enjoying the opportunity to recount the most exciting thing that had probably happened to him in…years.

"Bryce, you are downright impossible tonight!" Eleanor grumbled hastily in disbelief.

"Now's your chance, Pup." He winked at Elissa. "Go now, otherwise you'll be in for a detailed account on every single joint affected."

Elissa cast a quick glance at the lively group: someone had begun strumming a lute and a convivial mood had settled throughout the room.

"I think I am heading up to bed," she declared, standing up decisively. "I could use the peace and quiet."

Her mother arched up her eyebrows.

"Are you unwell?"

"A bit out of sorts," she admitted.

She kissed them both quickly and excused herself to Bann Leigh.

"Could be the weather," he stated knowingly. "I know rainy weather like this is very bad for my gout," he explained authoritatively, turning his attention back to them. As irritated as she was, Elissa couldn't help grinning at her mother's best Wicked Grace face as she displayed polite interest in the Bann's catalog of woes.

She nodded on her way out at several greetings tossed her way, only letting the trite smile on her face fade once she reached the doorway. Once outside, a servant politely shut the door behind her as she began to head towards the steps.

"Elissa!" she heard behind her, the door suddenly opening again.

Hurried footsteps headed her way and she turned to find Nathaniel.

"Leaving so early?" he asked.

His tone was amiable, casual. Too many servants still loomed about in the hallway negotiating trays of beverages.

"Yes," she stated tersely.

"I am off to fetch a deck of cards. Won't you consider joining us?" he asked, obviously still performing for the servants within earshot.

"No," was all she responded.

"May I visit you tonight? This evening has been sheer agony," he asked in a hurried whisper. "That is such a shame!" he resumed in a louder voice. "It's still so early!"

She'd had the intention of telling him no, but before she could grasp what she was doing, she uttered a soft "Yes."

"Well, I bid you a good night then." He gave her a formal nod. "In which room did they place you?" he lowered his voice again.

Sounds of conversations in full swing washed over the otherwise peaceful hallway as the door swung open once more.

"Nathaniel—bring two decks of cards!" another young man called out. "More people have decided to join us!"

"Second floor: last room at the end of the eastern wing," she quietly replied.

He was straining to hear her over the din behind him.

"Did you get that?" his friend called out.

"Yes, two decks!" he replied edgily over his shoulder.

When he turned back, Elissa had already begun climbing the stairs.

"Wait," he hissed after her.

"Good night, Nathaniel," she stated with mischievous sweetness.

Where there's a will, there's a way.

She wasn't about to make everything _too_ easy for him.

* * *

The room she'd been given was pleasant enough: large, airy, and filled with bookcases she browsed through as she waited for Nathaniel. She remained in her formal dress, hoping to cut a more impressive figure and imagined it would be a while before he would be able to extricate himself from his social obligations downstairs. She chose a storybook and casually leafed through it for a while, finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than Nathaniel and his imminent visit. The fact she kept recalling moments from that afternoon did not help: she found herself shifting in the chair, shaking off any hint of arousal. She finally slammed the book shut after a while and kicked her slippers off before curling up in the chair. She drifted off to sleep staring at the fire crackling in the hearth, pleasant thoughts coursing through her mind.

* * *

When she awoke a while later, the candles she'd lit had all melted down to small nubs and the room was cast in darkness, except for the waning orange glow from the fireplace.

 _How long did I sleep for?_ she wondered, squinting into the darkness and slowly standing up. She stretched and peeked out the window. Most of the lanterns and torches throughout the fortress, she noted, except for the ones lining the fences along the perimeter, had been put out.

It was late, she realized.

And Nathaniel hadn't shown up after all.

She huffed crossly.

_Perhaps he was detained…or unable to get away discreetly._

_Or perhaps I merely warmed him up for Oleanna_ , she thought jealously, remembering how their heads were drawn close as they conversed that evening.

She undressed, struggling with disappointment and indignation, scolding herself for appearing too easy, too available.

Something more enticing must have distracted him.

She tugged on her nightshirt and went about her bedtime routine, annoyed that she had spent half the night curled up in a chair waiting for him.

It was discourteous. It would have been best if he had said nothing, she decided. At least before that, she was willing to concede he had made no offers, no promises.

_Now, he is acting like a vulgar scoundrel._

Her hairbrush tore roughly through her hair.

She marched towards her bed, huddling under the covers, and staring towards the drawn curtains, knowing that sleep would now be elusive.

 _I can't wait to go home_ , she decided. _I wish I had never agreed to come to this stupid event. I don't even like Thomas!_

 _The truth is_ , _I agreed to come here for Nathaniel. I ought to just admit it. Deep inside, I was hoping to spend time with him_ , she realized sadly.

She hunkered down in the bed, drawing the covers up to her chin.

_One more day. I must get through one more day and then I can put this disaster behind me._

_And I am definitely not attending Nathaniel's wedding,_ she decided right then.

* * *

Elissa had been drifting in and out of sleep uneasily when she was roused by a faint knock on the door. She shot up in the bed, confused and disoriented for a moment. It was still pitch black outside. She gathered she couldn't have been in bed for long.

Even as she crossed the room barefoot, clutching her nightshirt over her breast, she wondered if she had imagined the knock; it had been so weak.

When she opened the door, lanterns burned softly in the hallway, but there was no one outside. She peered out each direction, and with a resigned shrug, began to shut the door.

At that moment, a shadowy figure emerged, blocking the entrance and slipping inside the room, quickly shutting the door behind them. Her first reaction had been to swing her first at it, but the firelight revealed none other than Nathaniel.

"Good," he whispered, locking the door. "No one saw me," he declared, turning to face her.

"Should you be here?" she wondered cattily. "It's so late," she yawned.

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"I would have been here earlier, if _someone_ had taken a moment to tell me what her proper room was! Thanks to you, I have just come from a miserable round of cards and a bottle of the most toe-curling dwarven spirits! I ended up knocking on Evan and Gorham's door while looking for you and had to pretend I was just stopping by for some after party entertainment so my lurking around the halls knocking on doors after hours didn't look suspicious!" he scolded her. "And I'll have you know my stop before this one wasn't correct either!" he stated with annoyance, crossing the room and dropping into one of the chairs by the fire. "But I learned my lesson. I knocked…and hid, waiting to see who opened the door. Good thing, too! It was Lady Ingrid's room. They say she's been quite the carousing merrymaker since becoming a widow and there's no saying what would have become of me should she have mistaken my intentions!"

He examined her in her nightshirt, her hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders and his cross expression faded into a familiarly warm one.

"Come here," he called out to her gently.

She was still holding on to her grudge towards him, but she walked up to the chair, standing stoically before him.

He seized her wrist suddenly and tugged her down onto his lap. She let out a little cry at his crafty maneuvering, just before he encircled her waist with his arms, and buried his nose in her hair.

"I couldn't wait to see you again," he murmured, nuzzling her ear. "I can't stop thinking about you. Did you miss me too?"

She wanted to scold him for his behavior earlier, wanted to be angry over the fact he'd made her wait and feel hopeless. But right then, in his arms, as he affectionately planted kisses over her ear, her cheek, even her nose, she was rendered defenseless.

"So much," she admitted sincerely, tossing her arms around his neck.


	9. A Beautiful Truth

"The very essence of romance is uncertainty."  
― Oscar Wilde

* * *

The intensity of Elissa's feelings baffled her. All the hurt and resentment that she had been nursing had so quickly shifted into the aching tenderness she felt for Nathaniel as he kissed her and held her so tightly against him. The only sound in the darkened room was the soft clicking of their lips.

At one moment he pulled away from her.

"When must you depart for Highever?" he asked.

Just a short while ago she had been wishing fervently to depart Amaranthine as soon as possible. But right then, in his arms, she wished time would hold still.

"Tomorrow, after the ceremony," she told him.

He gripped her tighter.

"Why so soon?" he puzzled. "I thought…You won't be arriving at Highever Castle until early the next day!"

She looked at him helplessly.

"I had no say in the matter!"

"So this is to be our last night?" He examined her wistfully.

She said nothing, but buried her face in his chest, a surge of emotion overwhelming her.

She did not want to leave.

"Elissa," he began quietly, "may I stay the remainder of the night, then?"

She nodded wordlessly again, embarrassed by how deeply the thought of departing was troubling her.

He grinned impishly, though.

"I took the liberty of planning for this." He pulled the hem of his red tunic up, revealing a second dark blue tunic beneath it. "This way, I can stay with you until the last moment possible and no one will suspect me of spending the night anywhere other than my quarters."

He appeared so pleased by his ruse, she couldn't help laughing.

"I fail to see what is so humorous." He feigned indignation.

"It was a bit presumptuous of you to assume I'd be letting you stay, wasn't it?" she teased.

His crestfallen expression was irresistibly endearing, she thought, still laughing as she kissed his cheek.

"So that's how it is, my lady? You take advantage of me and then cast me aside?"

She put on a calloused air.

"Well, once you've fulfilled your purpose, I see no reason for—"

"Fulfilled my purpose?" he cried out with delighted indignation. "And that is all I am good for? Honestly, your words cut me to the quick!" he went on dramatically.

A little part of her found vindication in his bemusement.

"You don't truly believe I am of a sentimental ilk—" she began coyly.

He languidly kissed the base of her neck.

"…of the type that mopes about, lovelorn—"

Nathaniel interrupted her again, this time seeking her lips with heady need. She found her resistance waning.

"What are you doing?" she asked between kisses.

"Trying to fulfill my purpose—perhaps if I perform it well, you won't be as inclined to discard me?" He arched an eyebrow.

* * *

Elissa wanted to lose herself in Nathaniel's caresses, reciprocate his touch, but she found herself teetering between caution and the desire to surrender. Any bolder gesture on her part, such as the hands that undid his trousers, or the way her naked body sought contact against his warm skin, was tempered by thoughts of his earlier indifference— she was suddenly assailed by the unwelcome thought that perhaps Nathaniel had been spending time in a similar fashion with Oleanna.

"What's the matter?" Nathaniel asked her breathlessly.

 _What guarantee do I have?...How do I know?_...her thoughts niggled at her.

"It's nothing," she tried to reassure him.

"Something's the matter," he asserted, peering into her eyes. "I can tell," he continued more gently. "Won't you tell me?" 

She hesitated, unsure as to how to reply.

"Are you in any pain since this afternoon?" he wondered with concern, sitting up. "Is that it?"

"A little tender, perhaps," she admitted, relieved to have a distraction.

He stroked her hip pensively.

"Should we stop?" he asked.

She couldn't tell him that the greater discomfort came from not knowing how he felt about her—whether or not she meant more than a good romp to him.

"No," she replied.

"I'll be very gentle then." He pushed himself up, over her, brushing his lips downwards in a trail of small kisses, past her breasts, over her stomach, pausing just below her navel.

She expected him to touch her the same way he had in the hayloft and she closed her eyes— the pleasant throbbing between her legs growing stronger in anticipation. Her eyes shot open again, though when she felt his warm breath against her inner thigh. She sat up on her elbows and glanced down at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Kissing it all better," he informed her slyly.

 _Certainly not like this! Not there!_ She thought nervously.

Before she could react, the tip of his tongue stroked her clit. She gasped, a ripple of excitement coursing through her. Any protests she had begun to utter fell away with each nimble flick of his tongue.

She succumbed to the mounting tension, her fingers running through his hair as she faintly moaned. Her fear of appearing improper, of appearing wanton were all replaced by her heightening pleasure, her brow furrowing from his agonizingly sweet teasing just before she was overcome by the intense pulsing of her release.

There was nothing else but Nathaniel. At that moment she felt wanted and desired. How could any of that be wrong?

She thought the same thing when later on she insisted in returning his gesture and noticed the lust in his eyes when she knelt between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. She tentatively ran her tongue over his erection until he eventually pulled away from her and cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her mouth roughly, urgently.

"Not yet, he whispered, "I want to be inside you," he told her as he guided her back into the bed.

He entered her with ease this time and she wrapped her legs tightly around him. She raised her hips, meeting his thrusts, their need for each other raw. She stroked his face, her hands trembling as he shut his eyes and uttered her name softly just before he reached his climax. He gasped, overcome, before they both fell silent, clasping each other tightly.

 _Nothing else_ , she sighed, nestling into his arms, his nose nuzzling hers before they kissed tenderly. _Nothing… but this love_.

* * *

She awoke to footsteps in the washroom, her eyes squinting at the bright light pouring in from the window. She turned her head around on the pillow, too tired to even attempt a lucid thought when she sensed him sit beside her.

She moaned faintly in protest.

"Elissa!" he called, shaking her gently. "I have to leave in a bit," he warned her. "I'm supposed to meet with my family before the ceremony."

"Why so early?" she rolled around to face him sleepily.

He chuckled.

"It's not that early. I hope you know I'm forgoing breakfast to spend these last moments with you!" he censured her.

She stretched lazily, grinning at him.

"While I appreciate the gesture, I am sure you will survive…"

He pretended to contemplate her with disapproval before yanking down the covers. She yelped from both the surprise and the sudden chill.

"What are you doing?" she cried out, folding her arm over her breasts and cupping a hand modestly over her sex.

He grinned back at her appreciatively.

"Committing every bit of you to memory," he revealed in a playful tone. One of his fingers gingerly traced the outline of her lips. He grew serious after a moment, his eyes downcast.

"I might not have the chance to speak to you freely again once I leave this room."

She winced, growing disheartened at the thought they would be returning to their expected roles in just moments.

He drew the covers up over her and turned towards the nightstand. He indicated a cup and a small white packet leaning against it.

"I brought you something…Stir the contents into the water," he instructed her. "You will not conceive a child if you take one of these after we've lain together."

She stared at the little packet.

"It's safe—it contains some felandaris, though, so make sure you eat something soon after you take it."

Elissa sat up in the bed, clutching the covers around her, and took the packet delicately. He planted a tender kiss over her forehead.

She tried to eye him gamely.

"So knowledgeable! You could be the apothecary's apprentice!"

He grinned, standing up and heading towards the washroom again.

"So do you get a discount for being such a good customer?" she teased, her fingers smoothing the packet's creases.

He halted, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You make me sound like quite the rake, my lady."

"I can see your luggage for the Free Marches already: one trunk holding a few clothes and personal effects, and a second filled with these little packets," she provoked, despite her inner pleas that she stop. She bit her lip as she peered at him out of the corner of her eyes. He had fallen into that quiet, brooding expression she recognized well.

 _Ah, I went too far_ , she realized with a pang.

"Elissa," he began after a moment. "I won't deny that I've had a modest share of …enjoyment. But… I've always been considerate. I've always been frank about the extent of my affections," he told her pointedly.

She continued staring forward, disconcerted, and gathered her courage.

"Does that mean you will be giving one of these to Lady Oleanna, too?"

He glanced at her in disbelief.

"What are you saying?"

"I am wondering how frank you have been with her," she stated, tilting her head towards the door.

"You know what my current circumstances are. I told you my stance on that matter. Why would you insinuate such a thing?"

"You both appear quite…happy together," she quipped.

 _What is this ugliness?_ she thought in bewilderment, her stomach sinking at her sharp words.

"I am expected to squire her during her stay. Why is this suddenly a problem?"

"You didn't as much as look my way last night," she snapped.

His expression hardened.

"Do you have any idea of what the consequences would be if anyone were to suspect that we are together? Do you know how many eyes trail after us, trying to read the intentions behind our every action? You are chastising me for fulfilling my obligations? Then I'm afraid you will have to remain cross with me. It is for your own good. I will be in enough trouble once Oleanna leaves without any hint of a future betrothal," he revealed.

He eyed the doorway.

"I cannot believe you would think I possess such poor character after everything that has transpired between us," he stated firmly.

He headed towards the door briskly. Elissa leaned across the bed, seizing his arm.

"I'm sorry!" she cried.

He remained still, unyielding.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, genuinely contrite. "I…" she hesitated. "Come now! You can't expect me to be indifferent to watching you with her after…yesterday. It's not very pleasant for me, either," she protested.

Nathaniel relented; he approached the bed and sat down once more.

"Elissa, are you…jealous?"

She said nothing, but averted her eyes instead.

 _Inexperienced… and immature_ , she censured herself.

"I don't think you understand," he insisted, gazing at her. "I'm not…You aren't just a notch on my bedpost," he stated.

"I was _that_ bad?" she ribbed him, trying to lighten the mood between them. "I don't even get to count?"

He didn't laugh this time.

"Don't say that," he asked quietly. "Can't you see?"

She cast him a perplexed glance.

"I've been in love with you since that first afternoon long ago when you first slugged me mercilessly in the courtyard at Highever." He smiled weakly at her, gauging her reaction.

She remained speechless.

"You don't need to say anything," he continued. "But it would not sit well with me if we parted ways and you never knew— _especially_ after yesterday."

"That far back?" she asked faintly, touched by his words.

At her reaction, he took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips.

"Never before –or since— have I met anyone else I could be myself so completely with. When you spent that afternoon with me, it was…" he paused, reminiscing. "I was completely dazed," he said softly. "Although," he quickly amended, "that could've been because of all the waster strikes you landed on my head."

They both smiled. She contemplated him pensively.

"I…I suppose I had always hoped…" her voice trailed away and she turned her head again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

"Are you telling me…" His smile broadened and he leaned around her, following her bashful gaze. "…That you feel the same way?"

She nodded timidly, cheeks stinging with a deep blush. She felt his arms encircle her before he fell back into the bed, with her lying over him.

"Maker's Breath!" he uttered, sweeping strands of hair off her face. "It's more perfect than what I ever dared hope for." He smiled warmly.

"What did you think?" she teased lightly. "That I go about Ferelden exploring haylofts?"

He laughed.

"I'd like to be your only companion in such endeavors." He cast her a meaningful glance.

Outside they heard voices in the courtyard. Nathaniel raised his grey eyes towards the window and the offending sound, resentment flashing across his expression.

"What now?" she asked, unsure as to what answer she expected.

He drew in a deep breath.

"I have to leave. I am late as it is: not that it would be unusual…I could hardly deprive my father of his daily rebuke." His eyes returned to stare at her. "The timing is miserable," he sighed. "I wish we were far away from here." He squeezed her arms. "I wish none of this mattered—that it was just the two of us."

He released her hesitantly and smoothed his tunic.

"Write to me. Send me letters in the care of Brother Farlan in Amaranthine," he suggested, smoothing down his dark hair. "He's a trusted friend—he'll proceed with discretion," he decided, satisfied with the solution.

She pulled her nightshirt over her head and walked towards the door as well. She opened the door slightly and poked her head out to examine the hallway. It was empty, despite voices floating down from the stairwell.

"All clear," she whispered, looking back at him.

He pushed her against the wall and gave her a farewell kiss. She was struck by the bittersweetness of the moment.

 _Found and lost within moments_ , she lamented.

He rested his forehead against hers, his arms embracing her.

"I'd give everything not to have to leave this room right now."

She said nothing, already mourning his departure before he had even left.

"Know that if I am not glancing your way during the celebration it is because it would weaken my resolve to uphold my parents' pretenses," he assured her. "But…I love you, Elissa Cousland," he told her gently. "Remember that."

She leaned forward, kissing him sweetly.

"And I love you, Nathaniel Howe."

They both smiled shyly, as if they'd uttered a vow to each other.

"Write to me," he pleaded, before disappearing past the door.

* * *

Elissa shut the door and leaned against it pensively. She commanded herself to go about her morning routine, reaching for the dress she'd brought for the ceremony.

 _What have we done?_ She thought, a feeling of foreboding emerging as she stared at the water in the wash basin. _What can possibly come of this?_ _There is no easy, simple solution that would allow us to be together._

She shooed the unpleasant thoughts away, replacing them instead with the memories of the previous night, the heat of his touch, the intensity of his words.

 _We love each other_ , she thought defiantly. _That's all that is needed._


	10. The Soldier and the Seawolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to the Wiki, in World of Thedas, Vol. 2, "The Soldier and the Seawolf" is the title of the ballad Bryce Cousland, the "Soldier" sang to a young Eleanor Mac Eanraig, the legendary "Seawolf", in an effort to persuade her to marry him. As far as I know, there are no actual verses of the ballad available to us, so what is here I made up, with my sincerest apologies to Wordsworth and Coleridge.

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart.  
...live in the question."  
― Rainer Maria Rilke

* * *

 

Highever Castle emerging in the distance as the carriage rounded the bend of the road was a sight that had always filled Elissa with awe. She felt pride gazing upon the Cousland banners whipping against the wind from every turret. She always anticipated that first glimpse when returning from an outing or voyage, but that morning her mind wandered. The carriage jostled and tossed them the entire trip. Her father had slept restlessly for most of the night and she and her mother had been staring out the window bleary-eyed since before dawn.

"I found it all rather…sad," Eleanor confided in a low voice. "Even your father agreed."

"What are you referring to?" Elissa stiffly stretched her back against the seat and grimaced.

"Eliane is not well," she revealed. "Didn't you see? Her countenance was so pale, so waxen."

"But is that really noteworthy?" Elissa whispered as her father puffed softly. "It is no secret that she enjoys to drink. Even her children make comments about it." She was well aware of the taint of petty gossip in her words.

"This is different," Eleanor remarked. "Her unsteadiness and confusion this visit were not the result of intemperance. If anything, I think she exhibited more moderation than I've ever seen before.

"Really, mother: we are picking on the woman for drinking less?" Elissa teased, resting her head against the window.

"I worry, that's all. I cannot help thinking what will befall that family when Eliane passes."

"Why do you say such a thing?" All she could summon in her mind was Nathaniel, so obliging and respectful of his family's pretenses. She wondered if the expectations heaped upon him would lighten or cause him to buckle under their weight after his mother's demise. It was hard for her to tell. She knew the elder Howes with that contradictory familiarity the young possessed of adults, young whose lives were directed by edicts and rules: their presence was always a looming, mysterious force.

"I did not like how Rendon fussed over the dignitaries from Denerim. He was too heavy-handed in his show of hospitality. It was embarrassing. I suspect these festivities were merely a pretext to amass favor and influence," she pondered.

"What are you talking about? It was merely Thomas' coming-of-age ceremony."

Eleanor smirked.

"So like your father," she stated quietly, turning to the man sleeping with his mouth agape beside her. "Howe wishes to expand his sphere of influence. That was never a secret."

"Whatever for?" Elissa yawned. "He's already Arl of Amaranthine."

"I don't know yet. Your father scoffs anytime I mention it, but I wouldn't put it past the man to still bear a grudge against us over lost land."

"Not this again!" Elissa rolled her eyes. Her father stirred, mumbling a few garbled words at them. "That was…ages ago! Before we were even born!"

"As were Orlais' invasions of Ferelden… and yet here we are, proud of sending them back over the border. Time is up against a formidable foe in the tenacity of memory." Her mother's brow furrowed. "Your father would maintain that fighting alongside each other makes them all brothers-in-arms, that it united all the Banns and Arls towards a common goal…It makes for a lovely story in theory, a pretty illusion all those involved enjoy sustaining for sentimental reasons, but without a shared enemy, without a greater cause...Let us say that peacetime brings with it unique challenges," Eleanor concluded. "Eliane holds the purse strings in that marriage and she has always tempered Rendon's ambitions, limited his reach. I hope we do not discover how Rendon would act without his Lady to pull back his reins. This occasion…To me it was like witnessing an eager player painstakingly position all his pieces on the board in growing expectation of a game about to begin."

"Perhaps it is you who grows restless in times of peace?" Elissa wondered impatiently. "I really did not notice anything aberrant about either one's behavior."

Eleanor eased back against her seat, turning her neck from side to side. She offered her a tired grin.

"Perhaps. I hope you are right. I cannot help being the way I am. I could always sense bad weather long before it crossed my path…" she stated, staring past the window. Eleanor was prone to those melancholy moods, Bryce had once disclosed to her, ever since she had given up her command at sea.

"I do hope the whole affair wasn't an insufferable bore for you, my dear," her mother began. There was something about her tone, though, that had her on her guard. "How did you find the Howe heirs this time?" she asked shrewdly, her eyes turning to her interestedly.

"I hardly saw Delilah."

"Yes…" her mother concurred. "She's very involved with ingratiating herself to Denerim's aristocracy."

"And I found Thomas quite grown," Elissa pointed out.

"Did you?" she asked, curious. "I always thought he took after the Howes rather than the Brylands: Thomas has his father's build and profile, unlike Delilah and Nathaniel…Sometimes when I look at Nathaniel, it's like I am peering at a young, dark-haired Leonas Bryland."

"I don't think I ever met—"

"You haven't," Eleanor interrupted. "Rendon and he haven't spoken in years."

"Anyway, Thomas has grown… but he's ever obnoxious. Still."

Eleanor flashed her a smile. They rode in silence for a few moments, Elissa feeling relieved at being alone with her thoughts once more. But her reprieve was short-lived.

"And what did you think of Nathaniel?" her mother asked suggestively.

 _Careful_ , she told herself. _How did acting naturally work again?_

"He seemed aloof at first…But we talked at length during our outing," she stated sanguinely, suppressing memories of the afternoon spent in the hayloft. "He seems to be doing well. Did you know he has learned how to ride like a Chevalier just to irk his father?" she added in attempt to change the conversation.

"Has he now?"

"Yes! I can only imagine his father's annoyance." She grinned. "And he told me it is likely he will be sent to the Marches to be squired."

"The Marches? A first-born? How odd," Eleanor whispered, intrigued.

"You know Nathaniel has no interest in running the arling," Elissa added. "That shouldn't be a surprise to anyone."

"No, no…That he hasn't the temperament to play the role of landed gentleman doesn't astonish me one bit…And I have fine furniture with deep nicks and scratches acquired during your past sieges and raids in my parlor to attest to his true tendencies," she reminisced with slight amusement. "What surprises me is that the Howes seem quite certain that Nathaniel will be engaged to Lady Oleanna any day now."

Elissa's mouth went dry.

"Did he not say anything to you about the matter?"Eleanor inquired.

"Only that his parents seemed quite keen on it," she replied. _Calm down_ , she urged herself. _This is nothing you didn't already know_.

"So he said nothing of his intent?" Eleanor pressed on.

"No," Elissa added, with a shrug.

"And…does the prospect distress you?" she asked suddenly.

"Why should it?" Elissa panicked.

At that, her mother smirked.

"Ah, dearest…Don't think I didn't catch those wolfish glances…"

"Oh, please!" she protested too vehemently. "Nathaniel is my childhood friend. He most certainly was not doing anything of the sort!"

Eleanor laughed lightly, an infuriating, knowing laughter and Elissa's stomach sank.

"Who said I was talking about _him_? I was talking about _you_!"

Elissa turned her head away, her cheeks stinging. She ignored her mother's appraising glances.

"What now? Are you cross at me? I am your mother, after all—You can confide in me about…"

"Nathaniel and I are merely friends." She spoke calmly despite the pounding in her chest.

"As were your father and I once…" she teased.

Elissa shook her head dismissively and rested her cheek over her fist, her gaze drifting over endless tree trunks filing past the window as they rode on the dreary road. Eleanor's smile gradually faded.

"Dearest, be careful," she stated more soothingly. "I wouldn't like to see you hurt…or inadvertently embroiled in the Howes' machinations for power."

"I already told you: Nathaniel is an old friend. And that is all!" she retorted sharply and warningly. It was an empty threat; if her mother were to push harder…

Instead, she stared at her silently before nodding.

"Yes. I know. I just want you to be careful. Rendon thought nothing of marrying for money and influence. I can only wonder about the values he's instilled in his children."

"I've told you already: I am not inclined to pursue such matters. If you are concerned about my making an ill-advised match—or any match for that matter, do not worry," she huffed, irritated and growing agitated in the confines of that small carriage that knocked them about tiresomely, without end in sight, it seemed. Suddenly what she had so often stated without flinching sounded untruthful and deceptive.

"I'm just being guarded…I suppose I am projecting my own dislike of Rendon…You know I would love for you to reconsider your stance on the whole topic of matrimony," her mother began in a more lighthearted tone. "Although I remember I, too, once swore I would never give up my seafaring life to settle down."

"But I was irresistible," her father quipped, surprising them as he smacked his lips, his eyes still closed. "Handsome, dashing…downright heroic…and what a great singing voice…" he mused sleepily as her mother arched an eyebrow.

" _And the Mistral sailed boldly and ever north,_

_O'er glimmering waves of green and blue,_

_To honor the Seawolf the Soldier bravely stepped forth,_

_—'Whither thou goest, my Lady, I shall follow you_ ," he intoned liltingly. "How could you say no to that?" he declared, his eyes opening at last, a mischievous grin on his lips. "She said yes to my proposal before I even finished the third verse!" he stated proudly to Elissa, his story one he had regaled her with so many times before.

"I was desperate to get you to stop singing through the next seven verses!" Eleanor feigned indignation. He chuckled and twined his fingers between hers before raising her hand to his lips.

" _Mo leannan_ ," he said tenderly in the dialect from her mother's native Storm Coast, kissing the back of her hand. Her expression softened.

" _Mo ghràdh_ ," she replied gently, squeezing his hand.

Elissa stared at her parents for a moment and was overcome with swirling emotions—a longing tinged with envy, a desire filled with hopelessness.

 _Will Nathaniel and I ever have such a story to tell?_ She wished someday they could sit like that, in such an accustomed togetherness, all uncertainties and doubts behind them.

She crossed her arms and stared out the window sullenly, even as her father tried to lighten the mood by jokingly chastising her mother.

"Elissa doesn't have to marry anyone. I, in the powers vested in me as Teyrn decree she may remain her father's darling daughter forever—a daughter trained to be a ruthless warrior instilling fear in the hearts of soldiers, it is true—but, first and foremost, always her father's Pup," he declared mirthfully.

"You spoil her too much," Eleanor shook her head, also seeking the view outside. "She must make her way in this world. We won't be around forever."

Her father had winked at her, his smile warm as he beheld his younger child.

"Oh, she will, Eleanor. She will do it grandly, too. For she is the Soldier and the Seawolf's daughter!" he stated animatedly. He leaned in towards them charmingly. "Do you two fine ladies know that lovely ballad?" he threatened.

"Maker, Bryce! Don't you dare! We've nowhere to flee away in this carriage!" Eleanor complained gamely, attempting to hold back her laughter as she gave his arm a good-natured slap.

And when Elissa finally smiled broadly, disarmed by her father's contagious cheer, he launched into a spirited rendition of the old ballad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Mac Eanraig is a seriously solid Scottish name (Eanraig is the Scottish form of 'Henry'), so I took the terms of endearment here from Scottish Gaelic. Mo leannan means "My sweetheart/beloved" and Mo ghràdh means "My love/dear".


End file.
